A Confrontation of Light and Shadow
by PraiseDivineMercy
Summary: RKDeathnote crossover. A meeting between Himura Kenshin and Yagami Light.
1. A Confrontation of Light and Shadow

I alas…do not own Kenshin… he belongs to Watsuki Nobuhiro. Deathnote is the creation of Ohba Tsugumi and Obata Takeshi. No spoilers.

**A Confrontation of Light and Shadow**

The two opponents stood facing each other, glaring angrily in the half-light of dusk.

The pair could not be more diametrically opposed—Fire met cold ice, the intelligence of youth versus experience. But there was one thing they shared:

There was no innocence here.

The man with fiery hair seemed deceptively relaxed, hands resting comfortably at his sides, as he turned burning ancient eyes on the grim-faced, dark-hared youth.

Finally, in a soft voice, he put words to the tension hovering in the air. "Do you really intend to kill me, Yagami Light?"

Light's face contorted with anger. "You are a fool…" In his hands was a black notebook. Such an unremarkable object it seemed… Snapping it open, Light poised his hand to write with the pen in his right hand. He grinned, the pen hovering millimeters over the paper. He hesitated, madness gleaming in his eyes. "What are you going to do now?"

Kenshin sighed sadly. "You know that you would be unconscious before you completed even the second character." Suddenly, the notebook fell from Light's hands, sliced into two even pieces down the spine.

Light shuddered, dropping the pen to land atop the ruined notebook. _Such things should not be possible for a normal human…_ "How?" he asked. Some of his fear managed to slip past the intended calculation in his voice.

"You forget Light-san," Kenshin responded coldly, a hint of amber in his calm violet eyes "_I_ was the first Kira."

Kenshin took a deliberate step forward. The sun sank into the horizon behind his shoulders, fanning the flame of his hair into a bright halo. Amber gleamed in the shadowy face. Light cowered back.

Kenshin scowled, his voice still hissing ever so calmly, "You Light-san, who have taken so many lives … you have never faced death have you?"

A hint of arrogance came entered the boy's eyes. "That is where you are wrong…"

Kenshin gave a nod to Light's right. "You mean the Shinigami? They are not death, only messengers and followers who rely on other forces for their power."

Light glanced at Ryukuu, who sat smiling amusedly at the goings on, his large teeth gleaming in the glare of the streetlamp.

"_Think Yagami. He may be more powerful physically, but he underestimates me…"_

"Please…" The teenager pleaded pitifully. Falling to his knees, he reached for a wad of paper with one hand, and felt with the other for his pen, laying somewhere in the darkness.

There was a swish of metal, and the steps continued to approach.

Each seemed timed with the beating of his heart.

He smiled again, gleefully this time, as his fingers grasped the smooth black plastic.

"How dare you defy God!"

He wrote. 'H…I…M…U…'

It was then that he felt the gentle tickle of razor sharp steel caress his throat.

"You are a child playing with matches Light-san. It is time for someone to take those matches away."


	2. Shadow Envelopes: The Beginning

Before Kira, there was the Hitokiri. Witness the fall into darkness.

A/N: This a prequel of the previous chapter. I rewrote it a bit and decided to post it as a second chapter rather than as a separate story. Thanks to my reviewers, who inspired this evil plot bunny. Thanks to Older Women for helpig me edit.

Acknowledgements: Slight references/homage to Conspirator's "Descent into Madness" and "Ichirizuka" by Older Woman. Kenshin and Co. are intellectual property of the great Watsuki-sensei. Death Note we owe to Ohba Tsugumi and Obata Takeshi.

**Shadow Envelopes- The Beginning**

"You've praying awfully hard there boy. Aren't your knees tired?"

Kenshin looked up to find his light blocked by a face resembling a dry lakebed, interrupted by the polished stones of two dark, clouded eyes. "Thank you Obaasan, this one is accustomed to kneeling for long periods."

The old woman clapped at the shrine, the lines of her face rearranging themselves into mocking skepticism. "You're awfully young to be so pious. When I brought my grandson here he lasted all of five minutes before he started fidgeting."

Kenshin's right leg immediately took that excuse to twinge painfully. Unfolding it, Kenshin started to laugh. "My shishou always said I wasn't much for meditation. But then he'd throw me in the lake, so…"

"Ha, so you are a normal child." The elder coughed, moving so she could lean tiredly against the side of the offering box. "Say, while you're at it, could you add a line for my son-in-law? These knees of mine don't bend like yours do."

The boy nodded. "Of course. Anything in particular?"

The woman brought a weathered hand up as if to wipe away tears, but her face remained dry, as did her voice. "Just his rest. You see, a samurai believed he had received an insult." Her voice snagged itself in her throat. "Please excuse my rudeness."

Kenshin sighed as he watched the grandmother walk slowly away. When she had passed the shrine gate, he resumed his former position. He clapped and bent his head, whispering, "Please help me bring Obaasan and all the people divine justice."

* * *

As he returned home, Kenshin considered how to stealthily enter the inn. It seemed that Katsura's favor had only exacerbated the tension he felt from some of the older Ishin Shishi, who resented someone his age being equally ranked. Unfortunately that meant either entering his room from the roof or risking further alienation by defeating the aggressors in a spar.

Leaving his shoes on the windowsill, he padded slowly over to the closet where his futon was kept, intending to catch up on lost sleep. The jittery anticipation of his forthcoming mission had been his primary motive for spending the day at the temple.

As he busied himself with the futon, a bit of paper wafted down and brushed his face. He looked up and immediately panicked, scrambling backward and banging his head against the wall. "A-a-ahhh!"

The first thing he noticed were the huge black wings that spread out, bony and skeletal. Then he realized that the thing (whatever it was) had something like a face. Glassy, sulfur-moon eyes, like those of a dead fish, studied him amusedly. There was nothing like a nose, only twin holes above curved purple lips. Shaggy black hair covered its face, head, and neck. It (he?) would have been over six feet tall—if the being hadn't been floating slightly above the floor. Its (his?) clothes resembled rags torn from a dozen different wardrobes and sewn together.

Remembering his training (Hiko would have thrown him over the waterfall by now) Kenshin's hands found his sword and he settled in battou-jutsu stance. "W-who are you?"

"I am the shinigami Rushifuru. The gods have heard and answered your prayer."

'_A lord of death?'_ Kenshin thought. "Honorable Rushifuru-sama, this one is unworthy of such attention." He answered carefully, hoping the creature would go away.

Curved teeth gleamed between the shinigami's parted lips. "On the contrary, I have foreseen that your actions will affect a great many people. You have asked to grant the justice of heaven, and I have come here to aid you in your endeavor."

Kenshin only nodded, awestruck. The adrenalin of a few minutes ago leaked swiftly out of him, and he sank weakly to the floor. _'I did promise Katsura-dono that I would put everything away in pursuit of the new era.'_

"O-okay, whatever you say." He stammered. _'Is this really happening? I must be dreaming.'_

The being waved one delicate, long-nailed hand. Seemingly out of empty space, a small book bound in black fluttered down, solidifying just before it hit the floor. "This is a book of death. Simply write the name of your desired target while keeping their face in mind, and they will die."

He had said he was prepared to kill for the new era, but—"One only has to write? It sounds so _easy._" The fourteen-year-old gazed, transfixed towards where the book lay—half a meter in front of him.

"Yes," the shinigami said, as if reacting to a high compliment. "You can also choose the manner and place of death. If you specify nothing, that person will simply collapse of a failed heart."

The would-be revolutionary reached forwards. "I will…" But his fingers had scarcely brushed the cover when Kenshin pulled back, securely embracing his own clenched fist. His resolution had failed. "I…no."

Rushifuru raised an eyebrow and grinned even wider. "Of course you will… 'No'? You don't understand the gift we are giving you boy."

Kenshin moved from his collapsed position to both knees and bowed until his forehead touched the ground. "Apologies most honorable Shinigami-sama, but this unworthy person is not ready for that kind of power."

Rushifuru bent over and glared at the boy. "And what of your vow to your commander? You would refuse divine justice?"

Kenshin bowed again. "This unworthy person means no disrespect, it is only…" Kenshin hugged his own shoulders as a cold chill sent trembling ran through his thin frame. "It is too much for me. If this one could destroy evil without ever meeting it face-to-face, my cause would become less clear to me. I might—" He shuddered again and did not continue.

Raising his eyes, Kenshin was surprised to observe no trace of anger in the shinigami, who was thoughtfully combing his beard with his long pale fingers.

"And if you could only destroy evil face to face?"

Taking hold of the sword at his side, he nodded slowly. "Then I would accept. This one swore an oath to Katsura-dono—I will assist him in bringing about divine justice."

A strange amber light shone in the being's eyes. "It is unusual, but there is a way. I shall give you power like the book, but only when you are fighting. It is arranged then?"

Kenshin nodded, clutching the sword more tightly for courage.

As the shinigami reached down for the fallen book, it grew translucent, rippling like water. Kenshin caught his breath.

"This may sting a little." The sight of teeth bared in a fierce, triumphant grin was all Kenshin saw before the ghostly hand plunged into his chest and darkness swallowed up his sight.

* * *

One evening, when Takasugi had gone a little too deep into the sake, he taunted his comrade and friend about the man's morbid and rather obvious use of black envelopes.

Katsura only rewarded him with a glare and cold silence before returning to his work.

_"Hm… this one shall also have to be eliminated." _Katsura thought, writing notes for the Hitokiri's latest assignments.

Surprised, the general laughed it off, quickly changing the subject. Katsura-san was always too serious to appreciate a good bit of gallows humor. Too bad about that…


End file.
